Mud Monsters and Pack ghosts
05-26-2020, 03:20 PM
(This post was last modified: 05-26-2020, 03:21 PM by Malalia.)
Mal settled into a low, mellow hum, putting her head between her paws as Mortis thought up a tale to tell. Around them, the insects chirped, a quiet, undulating symphony behind the roaring flames. She blinked, ceasing the wordless tune as Mort began the tall, setting the stage on a cornfield at night.
The she-wolf had a love-hate relationship with horror stories. She loved the anticipation, the twists, the big reveals. She didn't particularly like her heart beating like a hummingbird in her chest, the shadows that looked like silhouettes long after the story had been told. She could fight a bear, a wild dog, no problem, but the creepiness of ghost tales always got to her for some reason.
Ever so slightly, she curled inward, tail tucking over her toes as the fire crackled, and Mort took her along the lonely, wandering path through the cornfield, slowly coming to realize the wanderer wasn't alone. The figures he described were vague, and worse, invisible. Her mind ran wild with it, filling in the gaps with the most horrible visuals it could come up with, and closing in on the fate of the wanderer.
Mal couldn't help but to flinch! when Mortis kicked the wood, throwing up a sizzle of embers, abrupt and almost ethereal in the quiet of the night. She laughed weakly, after a moment, but her ears were pinned and her fur standing on end, just a bit. "Well told, but jeez, if that isn't creepy...."
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